Don Juan
By
Lord Byron
Canto X

When Newton saw an apple fall, he found In that slight startle from his contemplation — 'T is said (for I 'll not answer above ground For any sage's creed or calculation) — A mode of proving that the earth turn'd round In a most natural whirl, called 'gravitation;'And this is the sole mortal who could grapple,Since Adam, with a fall or with an apple.

Man fell with apples, and with apples rose, If this be true; for we must deem the modeIn which Sir Isaac Newton could disclose Through the then unpaved stars the turnpike road,A thing to counterbalance human woes: For ever since immortal man hath glow'dWith all kinds of mechanics, and full soonSteam-engines will conduct him to the moon.

And wherefore this exordium? — Why, just now, In taking up this paltry sheet of paper,My bosom underwent a glorious glow, And my internal spirit cut a caper:And though so much inferior, as I know, To those who, by the dint of glass and vapour,Discover stars and sail in the wind's eye,I wish to do as much by poesy.

In the wind's eye I have sail'd, and sail; but for The stars, I own my telescope is dim:But at least I have shunn'd the common shore, And leaving land far out of sight, would skimThe ocean of eternity: the roar Of breakers has not daunted my slight, trim,But still sea-worthy skiff; and she may floatWhere ships have founder'd, as doth many a boat.

We left our hero, Juan, in the bloom Of favouritism, but not yet in the blush;And far be it from my Muses to presume (For I have more than one Muse at a push)To follow him beyond the drawing-room: It is enough that Fortune found him flushOf youth, and vigour, beauty, and those thingsWhich for an instant clip enjoyment's wings.

But soon they grow again and leave their nest. 'Oh!' saith the Psalmist, 'that I had a dove'sPinions to flee away, and be at rest!' And who that recollects young years and loves, — Though hoary now, and with a withering breast, And palsied fancy, which no longer rovesBeyond its dimm'd eye's sphere, — but would much ratherSigh like his son, than cough like his grandfather?

But sighs subside, and tears (even widows') shrink, Like Arno in the summer, to a shallow,So narrow as to shame their wintry brink, Which threatens inundations deep and yellow!Such difference doth a few months make. You 'd think Grief a rich field which never would lie fallow;No more it doth, its ploughs but change their boys,Who furrow some new soil to sow for joys.

But coughs will come when sighs depart — and now And then before sighs cease; for oft the oneWill bring the other, ere the lake-like brow Is ruffled by a wrinkle, or the sunOf life reach'd ten o'clock: and while a glow, Hectic and brief as summer's day nigh done,O'erspreads the cheek which seems too pure for clay,Thousands blaze, love, hope, die, — how happy they!

But Juan was not meant to die so soon. We left him in the focus of such gloryAs may be won by favour of the moon Or ladies' fancies — rather transitoryPerhaps; but who would scorn the month of June, Because December, with his breath so hoary,Must come? Much rather should he court the ray,To hoard up warmth against a wintry day.

Besides, he had some qualities which fix Middle-aged ladies even more than young:The former know what 's what; while new-fledged chicks Know little more of love than what is sungIn rhymes, or dreamt (for fancy will play tricks) In visions of those skies from whence Love sprung.Some reckon women by their suns or years,I rather think the moon should date the dears.

And why? because she 's changeable and chaste. I know no other reason, whatsoe'erSuspicious people, who find fault in haste, May choose to tax me with; which is not fair,Nor flattering to 'their temper or their taste,' As my friend Jeffrey writes with such an air:However, I forgive him, and I trustHe will forgive himself; — if not, I must.

Old enemies who have become new friends Should so continue — 't is a point of honour;And I know nothing which could make amends For a return to hatred: I would shun herLike garlic, howsoever she extends Her hundred arms and legs, and fain outrun her.Old flames, new wives, become our bitterest foes — Converted foes should scorn to join with those.